Laudator Temporis Acti

Herodotus 2.133 (tr. Aubrey de Selincourt):

After the death of his daughter a second calamity fell upon Mycerinus: he received an oracle from Buto to the effect that he was destined to live only for six more years and to die within the seventh....Mycerinus, convinced by this that his doom was sealed, had innumerable lamps made, by the light of which he set himself every evening to drink and be merry, and never ceased day or night from the pursuit of pleasure, travelling about from place to place amongst the pools and woodlands, wherever he heard of a particularly delightful spot. His object in this was by turning night into day to extend the six remaining years of his life to twelve, and so to convict the oracle of falsehood.

μετὰ δὲ τῆς θυγατρὸς τὸ πάθος δεύτερα τούτῳ τῷ βασιλέι τάδε γενέσθαι· ἐλθεῖν οἱ μαντήιον ἐκ Βουτοῦς πόλιος ὡς μέλλοι ἓξ ἔτεα μοῦνον βιοὺς τῷ ἑβδόμῳ τελευτήσειν....ταῦτα ἀκούσαντα τὸν Μυκερῖνον, ὡς κατακεκριμένων ἤδη οἱ τούτων, λύχνα ποιησάμενον πολλά, ὅκως γίνοιτο νύξ, ἀνάψαντα αὐτὰ πίνειν τε καὶ εὐπαθέειν, οὔτε ἡμέρης οὔτε νυκτὸς ἀνιέντα, ἔς τε τὰ ἕλεα καὶ τὰ ἄλσεα πλανώμενον καὶ ἵνα πυνθάνοιτο εἶναι ἐνηβητήρια ἐπιτηδεότατα. ταῦτα δὲ ἐμηχανᾶτο θέλων τὸ μαντήιον ψευδόμενον ἀποδέξαι, ἵνα οἱ δυώδεκα ἔτεα ἀντὶ ἓξ ἐτέων γένηται, αἱ νύκτες ἡμέραι ποιεύμεναι.

George Saintsbury, Matthew Arnold (Edinburgh: William Blackswood and Sons, 1902), p. 14:

The foolish good sense of Mr Toots would probably observe—and justly—that before six years, or six months, or even six days were over, King Mycerinus must have got very sleepy.

From Matthew Arnold, Mycerinus:

The rest I give to joy. Even while I speak,
My sand runs short; and—as yon star-shot ray,
Hemm'd by two banks of cloud, peers pale and weak,
Now, as the barrier closes, dies away—
Even so do past and future intertwine,
Blotting this six years' space, which yet is mine.

Six years—six little years—six drops of time!
Yet suns shall rise, and many moons shall wane,
And old men die, and young men pass their prime,
And languid pleasure fade and flower again,
And the dull Gods behold, ere these are flown,
Revels more deep, joy keener than their own.

Into the silence of the groves and woods
I will go forth; though something would I say—
Something—yet what, I know not; for the Gods
The doom they pass revoke not, nor delay;
And prayers, and gifts, and tears, are fruitless all,
And the night waxes, and the shadows fall.

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